


You know I do.

by stormthedarkcity



Series: Fictober 2018 [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Zevran is a teasing little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-07 21:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20467169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormthedarkcity/pseuds/stormthedarkcity
Summary: Everyone finds their own way to pass the time while walking through the Frostbacks...





	You know I do.

The Frostback Mountains were ruthless. Cold, prone to storms, and the snow that fell without interruption forced them to pay close attention to every step, unless they wanted to get lost and freeze to death.

Keerla had wanted only a few people to accompany her to Orzammar. Zevran, Alistair and Wynne had agreed to join, while the others were staying in camp where it was warmer, and far less dangerous.

They were more than half of the way there, now. Only a couple more days of walking, according to the maps, maybe three, and they’d reach the underground city. In the meantime, they all found things to do to pass the time…

Zevran was leading the way with Alistair, walking slowly through the knee-high snow. “Are you okay, my dear Alistair?” he asked out of the blue, while brushing some fresh snowflakes off his eyebrow.

Alistair startled from his thoughts and turned a hooded face to him. “Umm? Me? Yes.”

“Oh, good, good! You got me worried there, for a bit.”

Keerla smiled to herself, knowing that whatever direction this was going, it would no doubt be entertaining. She saw Alistair slow down and squint at Zevran. “Why…?”

Zevran held his hands up in dismissal. “Nothing, nothing! I was afraid you’d be tired, but at least I guess warmth must not be an issue at night.

Keerla’s smile widened a little, starting to guess what Zevran was hinting at.

“What are you talking about?” Alistair asked in the same suspicious tone as before.

Zevran cleared his throat. “Well, you know me, I did not mean to overhear, but I couldn’t help but notice how very–” he chuckled “–noisy your tent has recently become.” He leaned towards Alistair. “The tent you share with our fearless leader,” he added in a too-loud whisper, as though the meaning could have escaped him.

Behind Keerla, Wynne snorted, and quickly turned it into a cough, that transformed into a small laugh again. Alistair did not seem as amused. His ears turned redder than the cold had already made them, and he protested in a high-pitched voice: “Maker, please, no more of that.”

“Funny, is it not,” said Zevran with a smirk in his voice, “how differently one can speak from one evening to the next morning?”

Alistair hid his face with both gloved hands, clearly remembering in great detail the previous night. He whined low in his throat, and Keerla couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore. It bubbled out of her, loud, precious in its rarity.

Alistair turned to her, face red and apologetic. She extended a hand, and he slowed his pace to join her sides. She touched his shoulder, still smiling, and shook her head at Zevran. “You love torturing Alistair, don’t you?”

Zevran smiled widely, before bowing his head. “Ah, my dear Warden, you know I do!”


End file.
